Lord of the Sleaze
by Cityscape
Summary: Drugs! Prostitution! Drunkeness! Need I say more? The much delayed final installment - The Departure of Boromir's Liver
1. The Drink at the Prancing Pony

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to any of the characters and places in JRR Tolkien's 'Lord of the Rings'. I'm actually a huge fan (not that you'd think it), but writing this was more fun than doing my dissertation.  
  
The Lord of the Sleaze  
  
  
It was 9:30pm at the Prancing Pony. A pair of drunken Orcs staggered into the night. From inside, a song sounding dangerously like 'Its Raining Men' echoed down the street.  
  
From the moment he had stepped over the threshold, Frodo had known this was a bad idea. They were due to meet up with an established crack dealer called Aragorn, who went by the 'street' name of Strider. As the four Hobbits edged into a shady corner they felt themselves being eyed by a variety of plastered men and elves, sipping pints and Bicardi Breezers respectively. The bags of pipe-weed seemed to be burning holes in Frodo's voluminous pockets.  
'Someone get the drinks,' he muttered, avoiding the gazes of half a dozen dwarves, who were getting quietly mashed on the next table. Sam bravely stepped up to the bar and struggled to mount a stool, where the barman stared at him suspiciously.   
'Four pints of...of..' He swept a quick glance at the bevies on offer. '...er...Old Troll, please.'  
Several of the other customers sniggered unpleasantly. Even the barman seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face as pulled the four pints and set them roughly on the stained bar before him.   
'Lets see some ID first, short-arse,' he growled, leering at the Hobbits. Sam shot a nervous glance at Frodo, who turned away. Slowly, he drew his hastily forged ID from his grubby pocket, and waved it briefly under the barman's bloated nose, who snorted and walked away. Scooping up the frothy pints he scampered back to their table. There was an obvious rise in the volume of laughter in the room as they each took a large swig. They chose to ignore it.  
It was at that moment that the door opened and two men entered. One was young, with unkempt dark hair and rough stubble, who whispered something to his companion and vanished into the toilets. The other was none other than Gandalf, the wizard.  
'Oh! Oi, Gandalf,' yelled Pippin across the bar. A dark look came over the wizards face and he grudgingly shuffled towards them.  
'So,' he began, planting himself on a stool. 'You made it. And do you have the…ahem...merchandise?' he whispered, falling upon the ancient elven tongue. Frodo discretely drew an ounce of pipe-weed from his pocket, Sam thrust forth a battered sack and Merry and Pippin threw the cover off a large cool-box held between them.  
  
Gandalf was a well know arms dealer, supplying whenever and to whomever he could. It was rumoured that the Drug Lord Sauron himself made use of Gandalf's never ending supply of black market weaponry. The hobbits could see a row of glittering fragmentation grenades swinging from the wily old wizards belt.  
  
'And what, may I ask, is this,' he grunted, poking at Sam's sack with his 'staff' (a cunningly disguised bazooka). Sam shakily undid the clasp and poured a battered stream of girlie mags onto the table. The dwarves began laughing again.   
'And what,' said Gandalf, suppressing a chuckle, 'do you intend to do with these?'  
'Sell them,' announced Sam in an airy tone.  
'But they're all…tattered.' Gandalf mumbled, flicking through a back issue of Mayfair. 'What have you been doing with them?'  
'Err…testing them,' gulped Sam in a hushed voice. The other Hobbits turned away, and wished they'd allowed that traffic Nazgul to take Sam away for being found drunk in charge of the Buckleberry ferry. The dwarves, on the other hand, collapsed in helpless mirth. This potentially fellowship breaking moment was interrupted by the sudden arrival of the young man with whom Gandalf had entered.   
'Greetings,' he began breathlessly, more than a little shaky. 'My name is Aragorn, but you may call me The King of Gondor.'   
He sat down unsteadily, scooping a copy of Hustler from the tabletop, and leafing through it dreamily.   
'Give him a minute,' said Gandalf conspiratorially, tapping his hooked nose.  
'Why are we here, anyway?' inquired Merry, taking another deep draught of his drink.  
With a long, annoyed breath, Gandalf began.   
  
'Long ago there were the elves, the firstborn. Basically they did bugger all except drink, take mind-expanding substances and surf for porn on the net. Those were happy times and with the arrival of men, they became even merrier. Interracial sex never bothered the elves and the men were more than willing to get stuck in. It was towards the end of the second age that the great super-clubs were set up, mighty metropolises of debauchery like Rivendell and Lothlorien. Then began the dark times. Denied the right to set up a chain of trendy wine bars stretching from Hobbiton to Mordor, a young go-getter called Sauron became dissatisfied with the ways of the world. Instead he brought a run-down restaurant called Barad-dur and started on his quest for domination of Middle-Earth, inciting violence through selling weapons and churning out dodgy designer drugs. Before he knew it, he was at the forefront of a fast growing global empire, threatening all of what had gone before. Now he has many names; the Drug Lord due to his monopoly on the illegal substances trade, and the Great Enema through his porn business. But the time has come for all those who feel oppressed by this vile supremacy, to rise up and fight against the evil, even if it means using his own weapons against him!!'  
  
'Bugger me,' exclaimed Pippin.  
'And what,' said Aragorn, suddenly alert, 'do you lot think you can do to help?'  
'We're willing to start moving in on his patch and make a quick buck off his clients,' said Frodo tentatively.   
'Well said, my lad,' chimed in Gandalf, looking up from reassembling his sidearm.   
  
With a mighty drunken roar, the door swung open and in walked a tall warrior. Across his back was slung an enormous shield bearing the emblem of Gondor; an overflowing shot glass crossed with a large cigar. He had lank hair, a scruffy beard and smelt like a meltdown at the brewery. Boromir had arrived.  
Boromir was a drunken womaniser. Even as he entered he scanned the crowd, spotted the elf maidens on a hen night and began staring lecherously at them, his tongue lolling from his mouth.  
'Hey darlin's,' he bawled at them, as the barman poured his usual jug of Bitter Dwarfbeard. 'Who wants a peek at my sword?' He cheekily held up a splendid blade. The Hobbits winced. The elf maidens ignored him. Aragorn laughed uproariously and shouted, 'nice one Boromir,' in an unnervingly sincere voice. As a spoiled rich kid from Gondor, Boromir was the perfect candidate for finding clients for Aragorn and the two often 'worked' together.  
'Gandy,' he slurred, pinching the wizard's hat and placing it rakishly upon his own head, and sitting down heavily. 'What's the plan, man…and where's that girly elf and Gimli?'  
'They're meeting us at Rivendell,' said Aragorn. 'They said they couldn't be arsed to walk to Bree for a pub, when it was singles night at the greatest club this side of the Misty Mountains, so sod 'em. Besides,' he muttered, pulling a battered flyer from his pocket. 'I worked out that when we get there, its going to be strippers night. The finest elf girls in Middle-Earth will get naked and dance for your pleasure, courtesy of MC Elrond,' he quoted, grinning childishly.  
'In that case,' said Boromir heartily, 'lets get leathered!! Another round please!!'  
'How about a song?' said Frodo, springing onto the table. The others cheered him on as Merry and Pippin set up a backing beat. He began to rap an elvish song about the early days of Middle-Earth, when the world was still untouched by the evils of Sauron.  
  
I'm the town drunk, yes I'm the town drunk,  
All the other town drunks are just imitating,  
So won't the real drunk please stand up, please stand up, please stand up,  
And hold both of those pints in each hand up,  
And be proud to be out of your head,  
And passed out in bed,  
Once more time, drink as you go...  
  
Probably due to the powerful effects of the Old Troll, Frodo lost his footing and fell from the table. As he flailed his arms, the bag of weed he had been clutching in his pocket flew from his grip and sailed across the room to land with a thud on the bar. There was a stunned silence. The barman stalked towards the package and gingerly picked it up.  
'You fuckwit,' whispered Sam in Frodo's ear.  
'I can explain,' began Aragorn lurching to his feet but he was cut off the barman's excited cry.  
'Wahay!!' he shouted, holding the bag aloft for all to see. 'Now we can really get this party going!!!'  
  
Coming Soon – 'A Joint in the Dark' 


	2. A Joint in the Dark

Disclaimer: If Tolkien knew what I'd done with HIS characters, he'd probably weep. For those of you wanting elf action, you gotta wait until chapter 3.  
  
The Lord of the Sleaze 2  
  
It was 12:30 at the Prancing Pony. The four Hobbits sat on the kerb outside and contemplated what had turned out to be a superb night. Somewhere down an alleyway, Boromir was noisily being sick. Aragorn was lying flat out on the pavement beside them, where Gandalf had deposited him after finding him slumped in a toilet cubicle. The old wizard himself was still trying to close a few deals before chucking out time. Pippin and Merry's cool-box full of magic mushrooms (hastily pinched on the journey to disguise the fact they'd smoked all their pipe-weed before leaving Hobbiton), was almost half empty. Frodo had made some cash from part of his weed supplies and even Sam had managed to sell some of his seedy porn to an underage Orc.  
Gandalf came grinning onto the pavement, his pockets stuffed with money and IOUs.   
'Still not up yet?' he muttered exasperatedly at Aragorn, and raising his staff into the air, he cried aloud in elvish, 'Gettuppa youlla zybastardo!!' before bringing it sweeping down into the rangers stomach. Aragorn awoke with a groan. Boromir stumbled into sight, still clutching a bottle Morgoth's Bitter Ale, and looking rather white.  
'We should make for Weathertop,' he slurred deeply, 'it's a place where we can all just chill for a bit.' He sank down to his knees and then slowly, onto his face in the gutter.  
  
It was to be a fairly typical night out for the Fellowship.  
  
They decided to make their way across country to avoid the road patrols of the vile agents of Sauron. His Security Nazgul were authorized to use any means necessary to stop any drugs, porn or weapons from moving around Middle-Earth, except if under the command of the Great Enema himself. Their rhythmic piercing cries and red flashing lights brought unmentionable terror into those that saw them.  
Carrying the unconscious Boromir was no easy task either. This had been left to the Hobbits after Gandalf announced he 'couldn't be arsed' and Aragorn seemed to be having enough trouble staying on his own feet as it was.  
'Nice one Mr. Frodo,' growled Sam waspishly, as Boromir's lolling head bounced across the rocks. 'If we'd stayed at home, we could have been sinking a few ales in The Green Dragon and after, goin' back for a quick joint and bed.'  
'I wish the weed had never come to me,' said Frodo sadly. 'I wish none of this had happened.'  
'Why don't we just give it to Gandalf, its not like he's got anything better to do,' said Pippin, staring at the old wizard, who somehow during the trip, had made time for a round of golf with an aging hippy called Tom, a southward journey to meet up with his 'home-boy' Saruman and a lengthy detour to laugh at some 'stoned' trolls.  
'Here, Mr. Gandalf sir?' Frodo called, running up behind the wizard, who turned round abruptly, a sinister look on his face. From the headphones of his personal stereo came the unmistakable sounds of N*SYNC. 'We were thinking – why don't you take this weed and sell it for us?'  
'DON'T TEMPT ME,' roared Gandalf, cowering behind a rock. 'I'd be mashed off my face in minutes – there is no way I could stand up to the power of the One Weed!'  
'But we manage it,' said Merry as Boromir started to wake up.  
'That's because,' began Gandalf, in a matter of fact sort of way, 'Hobbits are so dense, they are immune. They couldn't get any more stoned so to speak.'  
The quest was fully over before any of the Hobbits understood what he had been getting at.  
  
The ancient watchtower of Amon Sul had crumbled into disrepair at the end of the second age. Crippled by strikes, the Dwarfish construction companies had sent a memo to Gondor saying it had been a rubbish site for a tower anyway, and 'why don't you build it yourself?' Now, the derelict ruins hulked forebodingly over the surrounding swamps, frequented only by drunks and crack-heads. The Fellowship had never felt so at home.  
As they drew near the boarded up doorway, they became aware of curious runes and scripture, spray-painted over the walls in a variety of strange and twisted languages. Dominating them all, in a vast pink scrawl, was the message 'Elves Go Home!!' signed 'Boromir of Gondor, Son of Denethor'. Boromir muttered something about a 'strange coincidence' and hustled them inside.   
'Well this is a fine mess an' no mistake Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, rolling out his blanket among the Orc droppings and discarded needles that littered the cold flagstones. 'And where have the others got to?'   
Gandalf, Aragorn and Boromir had taken the room above, knowing full well that trolls used the lower one, but not bothering to tell the Hobbits. Gandalf had been very insistent on this fact that they remain quiet about this 'so as not to alarm the little fellows.' The three warriors sat round on the floor playing 'spin the Narsil' and strip poker (once Gandalf was down to his boxers, they suggested time out). The rain fell in hammering torrents outside.  
  
Frodo was first aware of the problem when his joint went out. Shaking himself groggily to his senses, he realised he was up to his neck in water. Sam, Pippin and Merry had already vanished under the murky sludge, obviously too wrecked on their mushrooms to notice. At that moment, the door burst open and a gigantic troll lumbered forward clutching a blow-up Balrog (boasting an astonishing 18 points of entry!), which it quickly tried to hide behind its back. In the moment of fear and panic, Frodo felt a terrifying urge to just roll another joint from his pack of One Weed. He fumbled with the Rizlas before bringing the completed reefer to his lips. As soon as he inhaled, he sensed through the clouds of smoke that a vast bloodshot eye, wreathed in fluttering hardcore porn mags, had affixed him from afar. He slipped and fell backwards submerging in the water, but just before he sunk he had last vision of a scrawny figure, wearing only a pair of mithril boxer shorts, raising a staff to its shoulder and crying 'Ttake dattufu kerr!!' before the world seemed to erupt in flame.  
  
Frodo awoke in the dark to find the other members of the Fellowship staring anxiously down at him except for Boromir who'd gone to buy refills for his hipflasks.   
'You've been asleep for three days,' said Gandalf irritably, hauling him roughly to his feet. Even the other Hobbits seemed less than friendly.  
'First that drunken oaf and then you,' hissed Pippin. 'If I'd wanted to carry something heavy I'd have stocked up on ale crates and headed for home after Bree.'  
Looking about him, Frodo found they were crouched in a clearing around a spluttering gas stove on which Merry was attempting to cook marshmallows. Boromir came stumbling through the bushes, clutching several whisky bottles and grinned excitedly at Aragorn. They both started to whisper and snigger like schoolboys. Gradually Frodo became aware of a fell sound on the air. It was as if a vast drum was pounding faster and faster, rising and falling, the very ground seemed to shake with its rhythmic beat. Through the trees he caught a glimpse of shimmering lights floating wildly in the sky and straining his hearing to the limit he could hear shrill squeals and yells echoing in the night.  
'What new devilry is this?' he cried, turning to Gandalf, who laid a comforting hand on his arm.  
'Rest easy lad,' mumbled the wizard. 'You are safe here.'  
Aragorn was in a high state of excitement. 'Is she here? Are you sure you've seen her?' he kept asking Boromir who nodded vigorously in between large gulps of spirit. 'Oh man, I wanna shag her so damn bad. Wonder what the price is…' He tailed off as the two of them made pumping motions with their arms and burst out laughing. Even Gandalf had to turn away in disgust. He led the Hobbits from the stand of trees and they all gazed in awe at the dale that lay before them.   
  
Sprawling across the valley floor was what appeared to be a large warehouse. From its roof danced beams of light, which swayed through the night sky, and adorning its rotting sides were elvish signs, etched in neon bulbs, displaying enticing messages such as 'Gurrlz Gurrlz Gurrlz' and 'Ffree Voddkaa Knite'. A large and rowdy crowd queued impatiently outside, an assembly of the lowest scum of Middle-Earth. Through the air came the unending beat, as though the very mountains were at the decks and getting down to the latest in underground techno. From inside came a sudden voice, which rose above the din as if it were the gods themselves.  
'THIS IS MC ELROND, KICKING IT LIVE FOR ALL YOU PEOPLE. ARE YOU READY TO PARTY? I SAID, ARE YOU READY TO PARTY? [wild cheers] THEN LET DJ GLORFINDEL ROCK YOUR WORLD. SPIN IT MAN, OH YEAH…  
  
Despite these dark times, the Elven stronghold of Rivendell was still a place of merriment, sexual escapades and underage drinking…  
  
Coming Soon – 'The Whorehouse of Elrond' 


	3. The Whorehouse of Elrond

Disclaimer: Tolkien is a genius. All the characters are his.   
  
Lord of the Sleaze 3  
  
'By the beard of Galadriel,' said Aragorn through clenched teeth as the Fellowship neared the foreboding bulk of Rivendell. The queue before them stretched down to the ford below, and not even Boromir who had enough whiskey to last until Durin's Day was prepared to wait that long. Gandalf tapped his hooked nose and winked, a habit that everyone was getting more than a little fed up with. Raising his glowing staff to lead the way, the others followed him around the building, past moss covered boulders and vomit covered beers cans. Eventually they came to a door, almost indiscernible against the hastily nailed planks that comprised the walls. It was guarded by two sturdy elves, one dressed as a sailor, and the other bedecked in a full cowboy outfit, complete with leather frills.  
'Hello stranger,' minced the former, in a voice that even made camp-as-they-come Merry cringe. Boromir and Aragorn's mouths dropped open in horror. Undeterred, Gandalf stepped forward and began to speak in a low stream of elvish, from which the words 'hefty bribe' and 'to see Elrond' were just about discernable. After several minutes of hard barter, the door was opened and they were led into the stale darkness, with only the light of Gandalfs Special Forces flares to lead the way. The elves led the little band down the gloomy corridor until they reached a door upon which the ancient rune of elvish greeting was etched, a fair hand with the middle finger proudly raised. Their two guides giggled about 'knocking and entering' before skipping away into the shadows. With a mighty rap on the door, Gandalf pushed his way in.  
  
Elrond had once been a great enemy of Sauron, when at the end of the second age, he had helped defeat the Drug Lord in a drinking competition upon the depraved fields of Mordor. He could remember well the cheering hoards of Men, Elves and Orcs, gathered under the fire and smoke of Mount Doom, as he, Elrond, tall and fair, had seated himself opposite the dark majesty Sauron, enemy of the free drinkers of Middle-Earth. The armies had proceeded to drink shot for shot until nearly all lay unconscious under the foul alcoholic vapours, which rose from the Drug Lords wine cellar. It was there that Elrond had taken his last drink, forcing the next turn of 'downing it' to pass to Sauron. As he fell onto his back, it seemed although all was lost as Sauron lifted his own drink and knocked it back with a roar of victory. At that moment, Isildur of Gondor, lifted his paralytic fathers shot glass and emptied it into his own mouth. In rage, Sauron smashed the top off a bottle of vodka and proceeded to chug the whole lot, collapsing among his fallen subjects. He was defeated, and the humiliation was so great, after his excessive boasting, it was thought he would never have the nerve to rise again. His dingy pubs were shut down and the mighty super-club of Barad-Dur was flattened to the ground.   
But Isildur, instead of recording this information so future generations could fight tyranny, decided he could not be arsed (partly because he couldn't write) and so rode back to Minas Tirith for some sleep. Unfortunately, he was still drunk out of his mind, and fell off his horse into the River Anduin, never to be seen again, and the knowledge of Sauron being a 'light-weight' passed out of history and into legend.   
  
'What a loser,' whispered Sam under his breath, as the opening of the door revealed Elrond, asleep with his head on the table, a Bacardi and coke standing untouched before him. Around the walls were a number of vast portraits, mainly depicting the elven leader surrounded by scantily clad girls with a cheeky grin on his face. Others showed him carousing with minor celebrities. There he was, smoking an ounce with Balin in Moria, lying drunk with Faramir in a wheelie bin, shaking hands with Morgoth…. With a gasp, Elrond awoke and sat up, several indecent photos of Galadriel sticking to his face, which he quickly peeled off.  
'Wha..aat! Who are you?' he gulped, pushing his chair into the corner, reaching weakly for his Armalite. Then recognition came over his features, and he laughed heartily. 'Gandalf, me old mucker!' he roared, pounding a ring covered fist on the desk before turning to the drinks cabinet, where Boromir was already helping himself.  
Once everyone was sorted with a drink, they all sat round while Elrond grumbled about labour shortages and rising prices. Inevitably, the discussion came round to Sauron and the ongoing war. The Hobbits listened spellbound as Elrond told tales of the trials and strife of his people, which got more trying and strife-filled as the drink went down. Eventually, even Gandalf began to look at his Rolex, until Boromir interrupted the reverie by falling heavily off his stool, clutching his hipflask to his lips. Elrond glowered at him, before turning to Frodo.  
'I believe you have something to show me, junior,' he said patronisingly. Slowly, Frodo walked towards the table and drew the bag of pipe-weed from his trousers, placing it on the table.  
'Fuck me!' exclaimed Elrond, rising to his feet, a look of unparalleled horror on his face. 'The One Weed! So the legends were true!'  
He began to pace the room, deep in thought. The others waited patiently. Boromir was discretely filling his pockets with brandy miniatures.  
'What does it mean?' said Sam innocently. Elrond looked at him distastefully and began.  
  
'Long ago, when Sauron's power was growing he went for a walk on the ash-covered slopes of Mount Doom. There, upon the scorched earth, he found a plant; a plant which was to cause unending terror and general bother to the peoples of the Earth, for he had found the One Weed. When smoked, it had the power to render any creature to the service of the Drug Lord, dependent on its effect forever. This was how he enslaved the races of Middle-Earth!! Every week he would give three ounces to the elves, seven to the dwarves and nine to the race of man – just enough so that they would be enslaved for all time. When Sauron fell on the plains of Mordor, the One Weed was in his pocket, and while everyone was unconscious a porn-loving drunkard called Gollum stole it. He took the Weed deep under the Misty Mountains, and there he smoked himself to oblivion. There, lying on a beanbag with long, greasy hair and bloodshot eyes, he lived far beyond his years until, after getting mashed one night, he dropped the Weed where it was found by the Hobbit called Bilbo Baggins, who took it back to the Shire. Anyway, basically Sauron has been looking for it ever since, for if he retrieves it, the world will once again become dependant on its evil power.'  
  
Elrond raised his hands dramatically, and then saw everyone was asleep and put them down again. Gandalf awoke with a snort.   
'What do we do then?' he grunted, pushing his pointed hat out of his eyes.  
'The Weed must be cast into the fires of Mount Doom,' said Elrond. 'Once there, the fumes will cover the whole of Middle-Earth. Everyone will be high and the power of Sauron will be no more! Who will go to for-fill this quest?'  
'What's it worth to you?' said Frodo crossing his arms.  
'Free entry and drinks in Rivendell for the rest of your lives?' said Elrond tentatively.  
'DONE!!!' cried all the Hobbits.   
'Starting tonight!?!' interjected Boromir hopefully.   
'Go on then,' said Elrond wearily. The Fellowship stampeded for the bar next door.  
  
From the start it was obvious that Legolas and Gimli were pretty hard up. Bored of waiting for the others to arrive, they had both got jobs as lap dancers after much grovelling before the feet of Lord Elrond. Now, bedecked in feathers and troll-skin hot pants, they were cavorting around the few 'unemployed' women to be found in Rivendell. The fact that Gimli had to be lifted by the customer before he could perform his lap dance was the primary reason why he was sitting in the corner nursing a double scotch, and Legolas was sprawled decadently across the knees of three elven tarts as they stuffed mithril coins into his waistband. For the second time of the evening, Aragorn and Boromir gaped in disgust.  
'I would never have believed one could stoop so low,' growled Gandalf, surveying the two of them as they sheepishly pulled off their tasselled headdresses and sat down with the rest of the Fellowship in a darkened corner. 'We've been off braving unmentionable dangers while you've made complete gimps of yourselves. Anyway,' he spoke irritably. 'You're coming with us now. If we've got to go to Mordor, we want an elf and a dwarf to suffer as well – been getting away with it for far too long.'  
His berating was interrupted by the arrival a golden-haired beauty, who danced tantalisingly before their table a while before slinking away. Aragorn gasped audibly.  
'Oh Man!' he cheered, thumping his hands on the table. 'Did you see how hot she was. Oh man…' he tailed off, staring around the table. Boromir looked incredulous.  
'That was a bloke you idiot,' he roared, and the Fellowship fell about with laughter at the look of utter despair on Aragorn's face.  
'Maybe,' said Legolas, perking up suddenly, 'its time for a drink!'  
  
The night wore on. The Hobbits sat tightly around the table, staring furtively about them, as the place got fuller and more raucous. DJ Glorfindel was bringing down the house with his ambient grooves. Someone had let some Orcs in, who were now break dancing amid a crowd of cheering revellers. At first they heeded Gandalf warning to 'stay well away from the hookers my lads, for evil will come of it', until about five minutes later when they saw the old wizard being led away by a voluptuous elf who had his beard entwined round her hand. Merry and Pippin disappeared in the direction of the dance floor where Aragorn and Boromir were already making a complete arse of themselves. As Frodo watched, Aragorn advanced drunkenly upon a young elven lady and tried to wrap his arms around her waist. Moments later, he was reeling after receiving a sharp slap in the face.  
'That's one of Elrond's daughters you idiot!' roared Boromir, jumping up and down with his hipflask in the air. Aragorn left the room in rage.  
Frodo suddenly felt a soft touch on his arm.  
'Not now Sam,' he snapped and looked round to find himself staring into the eyes of a young elf maiden, who smiled sweetly and slid her hand up his thigh. Sam stood and gave him the 'thumbs up' behind her head, before stumbling to the bar. The elf whispered huskily in his ear,  
'For ten, my little Hobbit, you'll have a lap-dance, but for twenty it's up to you what you get…'   
Frodo awkwardly reached into his pocket for ten coins, but as he did his hand touched the One Weed in its leather pouch. Instantly, there seemed to be a voice in his head; 'THE TWENTY, THE TWENTY.' For a moment, he fought against it but then felt his will crumbling. 'Why not,' he thought and withdrew twenty mithril coins which he stuffed clumsily into the elf's straining bikini.  
'Ammgonash ag-yoos enzless' she whispered in elvish, before leading him from the room.  
  
Coming Soon – 'The Flight from Rivendell' 


	4. The Flight From Rivendell

Disclaimer: All the characters are Tolkiens. The songs are based upon the lyrics of Eminem.  
  
Lord of the Sleaze 4  
  
The Flight From Rivendell  
  
Legolas had ditched his shoddy showgirl outfit and was now wondering around, feeling somewhat disturbed after accidentally walking in on Gimli engaged in a kinky sex game with some of Rivendells less fussy working girls. He headed for the dance floor, passing Aragorn on the way, who looked up excitedly as he approached and then looked down, shamefaced. 'Poor guy,' thought Legolas. If the rumours were true, Aragorn had never been with a woman despite the blatantly falsified tales of his sexual conquests that he liked to share with them all at every possible moment. This was probably due to the fact that the ranger had spent much of his life in the wilderness, learning the ancient ways, or lost, as everyone else called it.  
Legolas was watching as Boromir was escorted from the room by security for unintentionally clubbing one of Elrond's vast collection of daughters with his shield, when he felt a tap on the shoulder. Turning, he saw Gandalf peering out of a broom cupboard, with only a grey beard to protect his modesty. A girly laugh issued from the darkness behind him.  
'Hey – Lego,' hissed the wizard. 'You couldn't go check on the Hobbits for us, its just I've…erm…got my hands full.' He laughed nervously. Legolas didn't. There was an uncomfortable silence before Gandalf slammed the door again.  
Sam, Merry and Pippin were found clustered tightly around a particularly grimy looking Orc in a dark corner of the dance floor. He was handing out 'gifts' to them all from a bag that he quickly stuffed into his pocket as Legolas arrived.  
'So, they're like…sweets?' Pippin was saying earnestly, popping them into his mouth.  
'S'pose so,' growled the Orc and beat a hasty retreat from the advancing elf. Legolas surveyed them all grimly while Sam jumped from one foot to the other.   
'How many of those have you had?' he said firmly as the Hobbits looked uncomfortable.  
'Four each,' ventured Merry.   
'Oh, that's fine then,' laughed Legolas, clearly relieved. 'Have you got any for me? I'll pay you double, no make that triple!' The Hobbits gladly handed over some of their spoils to the eager elf, who washed the little tablets down with his vodka and orange.  
'Well you three have a good time – I'd suggest a bit of dancing. Boromirs been thrown out so your quite safe,' he added.   
But where was Frodo? Legolas searched room after room, through unending scenes of squalor and decadence. 'Rivendell truly is the jewel of the elven kingdom,' he thought as he saw Master Pimp Cirdan of the Havens, arriving with a bunch of the finest west coast ho's in Middle-Earth.  
Turning a final corner, he found himself confronted by a door. The elvish rune for 'at work' was emblazoned on its surface. Legolas listened awhile, heard nothing and then twisted the handle.  
  
Frodo lay back dreamily on the bed, his hands folded behind his head and eyes closed, unaware that the elven beauty getting undressed beside him had already pinched his wallet, watch and was currently searching through the pockets of his jacket. Not finding anything more, she clambered onto the bed, her slight weight pressing down on the eager Hobbit and began to nibble playfully on his ears. Frodo allowed his hands to slide softly down her exquisite back as she began to remove his mithril vest, which she eyed longingly before sliding it under the bed.  
  
The door burst open!  
'ARWEN!!' screamed Legolas, his voice breaking into the girly wail. With one bound, he leapt across the room and roughly forced them apart. Frodo gasped in horror.  
'Just what do you think your doing, you..you..WHORE!!' the enraged elf continued, seizing Arwen by the shoulders and shaking her violently.  
'Get over it Mirkwood Boy,' she countered sullenly. 'So we slept together once, big deal – you were rubbish anyway. That once was on the house as a greeting gift from my father. Sorry if you thought it meant something,' she added patronisingly.  
Not being able to think of a witty enough comeback, Legolas turned on Frodo.  
'And you,' he cried, advancing on the hastily dressing Hobbit. 'You're supposed to be on my side.' He swung a punch at Frodo's retreating figure, who, half in and half out of his trousers, fell sprawling out of the door. Legolas was in hot pursuit and raised his leg to deliver a flying kick on the fallen Frodo when something curled deftly around his foot and he crashed to the floor beside the Hobbit. Gandalf the Grey stood over them, a grim but pleased with himself look playing across his face.   
'It appears the Weed is already at work within the Fellowship,' he said grimly. 'We must resist the temptation to give in to the Drug Lord. It is getting late and a cold wind blows from the East. Sauron's forces are massing in the dark land. The Eye draws ever nearer to our plight. The Nazgul are poised to strike. But most terrifying of all, I am completely out of Viagra. Let us assemble in the dance hall.'  
Frodo and Legolas stared at each other for a second, and then burst out laughing.  
  
They headed back to the main hall, Frodo searching desperately for his wallet as they went. When the three of them entered the room they saw the rest of the Fellowship plus five hundred or so other patrons crowded around the stage. Lord Elrond was standing before them all, his hands raised for quiet. He was wearing an unbuttoned, grubby leather shirt, his chest covered in overly large medallions. There was a pair of purple tinted sunglasses pushed up onto his head and rolled up cigarette behind his ear. It was no wonder all the ladies had edged carefully away from him.   
'This here is Aragorn,' he was saying, pointing to the bedraggled Ranger. 'He claims to be the King of Gondor so we know he has a sense of humour. Just as well because he has also asked for my daughter Arwen's hand in marriage, so I'm sure he'll find it hilarious when I say OVER MY DEAD BODY!!'  
Aragorn cowered away from Elronds wrathful glare.  
'Anyway,'said Elrond, his voice changing, 'our 'king' here claims to have a moral boosting song to sing before him and his buddies head off on a little errand I've planned, so come up here and get it over with.'  
Shiftily Aragorn climbed upon the stage to mild applause, unaware he was standing under the neon-highlighted word 'GIRL' from the sentence 'pay for 2 and get another girl free!' that stretched around the room.  
'Okay,' began the Ranger, sweat pouring from his forehead. 'Here's a little number that I learnt from this hooded guy I met in Bree one time – called himself the Witch-King or something – I think he was on drugs, I know I was. Anyway, it goes a little something like this…'  
He began to rap, making some awful attempts at 'street-style' moves.  
  
"Hey kids, do you like Morgoth?  
Wanna see me use the shards of Narsil, to cut some Elves heads off,  
Wanna copy me and…."  
  
'Stop,' roared Gandalf as the audience shifted uncomfortably. 'Maybe you've got another song,' he said pointedly to Aragorn who was frozen in a ridiculous pose with both his hands reaching out before him.   
The Ranger looked surprised, and blinked stupidly.  
'Oh. Alright then. Here's a little ditty that I've been working on while on my many dangerous quests.'  
Someone laughed mockingly in the crowd. Unsurprisingly, it was Gimli. The beat started again and Aragorn began.  
  
  
"May I have your attention please, may I have you attention please?  
Will the real king of Gondor please stand up?  
I repeat, will the real king of Gondor please stand up?  
We're gonna have a problem here…  
  
You all act like you've never seen a Ranger before,  
Jaws all on the floor,  
Like Arwen and Haldir just burst in the door,  
And started whoopin her elf ass worse than before,  
Then went to Mordor,  
And joined the Drug Lord.  
It's the Return of the King…  
Aww…wait, your kidding,  
He didn't just say what I think he did, did he?  
And the Steward of Gondor will say…  
Nothing you idiots – that guy will be dead on the day.  
Elven woman love Aragorn,  
'That Ranger, look at him,  
Sleepin around, killing god knows what,  
Hiding from Sauron too,  
Yeah, but he's usually drunk though.'  
Yep, I probably got a couple of lembas up in my head loose,  
But no worse than whats goin' on in Galadriel's bedroom.  
Sometimes I just want to get on me palantir and cut loose,  
But can't, but its cool for Saruman to put his to pornographic…use…   
  
  
Aragorn stuttered to a stop, realising the whole room was staring open mouthed with horror at his blasphemous lyrics. Gandalf shook his head sadly and started to walk for the door. The rest of the Fellowship followed him. Elrond mounted the stage, his face purple with anger.  
'Never has anyone uttered the foul language of the Great Enema under this roof before, you Ranger scum,' he yelled at Aragorn's quaking form. 'Get out of this house and never come back!'   
Aragorn turned and fled after the rest of the Fellowship.  
  
Coming Soon – 'The Near Miss-ty Mountains.' 


	5. The Near-Missty Mountains

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all characters herein belong to good old JRR. Cheers to all the people who have taken the time to read and review.  
  
Lord of the Sleaze 5  
  
The Near Miss-ty Mountains  
  
After being thrown out, Boromir had become so desperate for a drink he had constructed a complete working distillery in the Rivendell orchards. He took an experimentary sip and gagged. The stuff was strong enough to fell a rabid troll.   
'Perfect,' he muttered and filled the canteen on his waist. At that moment, the rest of the Fellowship arrived, out of breath and gabbling about elven sharpshooters giving them five minutes to get out of range. Gandalf led then on and into the wild. Soon the trees closed threateningly around them, and in the dark beside the path there was the sound of unseen beasts, only their eyes glinting in the falling light.  
It soon became apparent that Legolas and Gimli despised one another with a vengeance.   
'Never trust an elf, for they are a complete bunch of tossers,' called Gimli, readjusting his grip on his axe.   
'Hope we're not going near any Dwarf cities,' retorted Legolas hotly, 'where your mother's your sister.'  
Gimli sprang forward with a dwarvish battle cry, only to be halted by Gandalf brandishing a cocked Magnum.   
'We cannot allow ourselves to give in to the will of Sauron,' he said, 'if your going to fight, let it be man to man, fist to fist.'  
The rest of the Fellowship set up camp while Legolas and Gimli pummelled each other to pulp. Pippin spread blankets over their unconscious forms later in the night. They voted that Aragorn should stay up to watch out of a retaliation attack by Elrond's henchmen and all rolled themselves in their blankets. Aragorn was asleep in some five minutes.  
  
With a jump, Frodo awoke from a deep involving dream of Arwen, clothed in PVC and brandishing a leather whip, strapping him down to a bed. Instantly he knew something was wrong. He could hear a strange wheezing sound, as if air was being breathed into ruined lungs, and then a hissing whisper 'myy prrreeeccciouuuuss'. Looking across the camp, he saw a strange creature bent over Sam, flicking through one of the sleeping Hobbits copies of Playboy. As the creature reached the centre spread, his eyes widened and Frodo could see they were vast and bloodshot.  
'Hey,' he spluttered, rising to his feet. The creature gasped and fled into the darkness of night.   
'What the fuck was that?' whimpered Sam in a cowardly voice, retrieving his dropped mag.  
'Gollum, the little bastard,' yelled Gandalf excitedly, blasting a couple of rounds into the bushes. 'He's trying to get his hands on the Weed again. Luckily Sam's porn distracted him. Well done my lad,' he said kindly, laying a hand on the quivering Hobbits shoulder.  
'How long has he been following us?' asked Frodo nervously.  
'How the Hell should I know?' said Gandalf moodily. 'Do you expect me to keep track of every single little thing? Now I suggest we all get back to sleep, for tomorrow we begin our climb into the Misty Mountains.'   
He then proceeded to lay a perimeter of mines around the camp, muttering 'this'll teach the son of a bitch…'  
  
The next morning, the sun blazed down on the sleeping Fellowship. They had all overslept – again. Gandalf roused them with a hefty clout with his riot stick. After a couple of hours of cursing and moaning, they finally started walking towards the mighty snow-covered peaks before them.   
'I would say we were taking the long way round,' gasped Gimli who as trying to keep up despite the fact that his leg was broken in two places. 'We could go through the 'Hood of Moria.'  
'That place has an evil omen,' said Gandalf darkly and continued walking in silence. That told everyone else that the old wizard probably owed a considerable amount of money and/or weapons to that cities foul inhabitants. This was proving to be a recurring problem in the Fellowships quest. If it hadn't for the wizard's financial dispute with Eriador Airlines, they could have got rid of the Weed some three weeks ago and spent the rest of their days getting VIP entry into the best clubs in Middle-Earth.   
After several hours of climbing the Fellowship were extremely high. Unfortunately though, they had only progressed some fifty metres up the mountain. It had been scarcely past noon when Gimli had broken into his own weed supplies, calling for joint stops every ten metres or so. The rest of the Fellowship was more than happy to oblige. The Hobbits passed round the grubby spliff until it came to Legolas.  
'I would never suck on the work of a dwarf!' he announced, looking up from combing his hair.  
'Your more of a girly pill-pusher,' laughed the Dwarf, taking a large blast and blowing smoke into the Elf's face.   
There followed a heated argument about the relative merits of weed over pills, which ended in the entire Fellowship suffering a blazing row and vowing never to talk to eachother again.  
'And I'm not climbing this damn mountain either,' sulked Aragorn.  
'This is what separates the men from the boys,' sneered Boromir, and the two launched into a rather unmanly slapping fight. Gandalf appealed for calm above the wrestling bunch, but to little effect.  
  
Deep in the dark land of Mordor, the Drug Lord Sauron turned on the palantir. The picture was fuzzy again. He looked out the window to check there were no Orcs sitting in the dish like the time before. One of the damn Nazgul had parked his fell beast on it.   
'Oi!!!' he yelled irritably. 'Number 7, can't you read?' He pointed to a large sign that read 'do not obstruct – owner is prone to unreasonable acts of malicious cruelty – you have been warned.' Sauron turned back to his throne. He was wearing a t-shirt with 'FREE MORGOTH' emblazoned across the chest, above a picture of the Drug Master in question, chained and forlorn, on the telephone to his Mum.  
Presently, the palantir cleared and the Great Enema himself settled back with a family bag of Doritos and a crate of ale to watch the show. As the static cleared, he could see the Fellowship as a mass of punching figures, through which Gandalf was currently wading, swinging indiscriminately with his staff. He bent his evil will more strongly upon their location…   
  
At that moment, a great cry came from Mordor, making the very mountains shake with it malice. Immediately, alarms began so sound in the missile silo of Minas Morgul and the Nazgul on duty dropped his copy of Readers Wives in shock.  
'FIRE,' he cried shrilly at the Orcs who were playing Twister in the corner. There was a frenzied burst of activity and in the next few seconds the terrifying roar of the ICBM filled the bunker with fire and smoke, before it arose in a vast dark cloud and thundered into the West.  
It passed over the corrupt city of Osgiliath, the beleaguered Minas Tirith, the land of Rohan, where there were a great many men 'riding' their horses. At Isengard, where Saruman was currently accepting bribes to turn a blind eye to the Great Eye, it turned North and bore down upon the unsuspecting Fellowship.  
  
Legolas, whose ears were sharper than most, heard it first. 'There is a fell sound on the air,' he wailed. The others stopped to listen. An eerie whine was building, a sound which filled them with dread.  
'Its Sauron,' screamed Gandalf, totally losing it. 'He means to bring down the mountain upon us!'  
At that moment, the missile crashed into the slopes above them and they were all thrown to the ground. A great avalanche poured down towards them, and before they could regain their footing, it swept over their struggling bodies. All was silent.  
Legolas burst from the snow, looking about him in wonder. There was no sign of the others and he concluded that they must be buried around him. He considered just leaving them where they were and going home, but at that moment Gandalf's staff came thrusting through the snow, hooked around his neck and dragged him to the ground. The old wizard then pulled himself from the ice using Legolas's fallen form.   
'Cheers, mate,' Gandalf grinned, as the other members of the Fellowship dug themselves out.  
'Sauron's powers have grown strong indeed if he can throw ICBMs at us,' said Aragorn darkly.  
'His powers have grown strong,' admitted Gandalf, sadly examining what was left of his joint.  
'What say you now, conjurer,' smirked Gimli, knowing Gandalf despised this nickname. 'It is time we headed for the 'Hood – my cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome. Roast Rohirrim off the bone, all the weed you can smoke, come on – what do you say?'  
Everyone but Gandalf seemed enthusiastic about this, but even he conceded after Frodo told him to stop being such a girl.  
'Whatever the Weed-Bearer commands,' he sneered and sulked along at the end of the line.   
  
Coming Soon – 'A Journey in the 'Hood' 


	6. A Journey in the 'Hood

Disclaimer: It's all Tolkiens I tell you, Tolkiens!!  
  
Lord of the Sleaze 6  
  
A Journey in the 'Hood  
  
As they neared the walls of Moria, the Fellowship tried not to breath. A deep pool of sewage was being pumped out of a pipe in the rock to collect in a foul lake before the very gate of the Dwarvish city. As they slid their way around it, the Hobbits were reminded of their own beloved River Brandywine and the Shire.  
  
'You think we'll ever see it again, Mr Frodo sir?' said Sam pathetically as he struggled to remain on his feet.  
  
'We may yet Sam,' replied Frodo, trying not to laugh as Boromir sunk up to his knees in a particularly thick pool of effluent.  
  
'A curse on the Dwarves and their shoddy plumbing,' the warrior rasped, wrapping a scarf around his face and hauling himself out.  
  
It was not long before they reached a gigantic door cut into the side of the mountain, once adorned with faded posters advertising club nights at Lothlorien, but now all but obscured by evil flyers for Sauron's establishments. 'Club Barad-dur' 'Mash it Up at Minas Morgul' and 'Get Bladdered at the Black Gate' featured prominently. Gimli tore them down in rage.  
  
'I can't believe my cousin Balin would let this happen,' he grumbled. 'And why's he locked the door on old friends?'  
  
There was no visible means of opening the door; not that any of the Fellowship were in a fit state to open their own mouths, since Boromir had been passing round his Rivendell home-brew for most of the day. Gandalf, still in a mood after the missile attack began a lecture about how he knew what to do, and that they should respect their elders and maybe he'd think about opening it for them if they each paid him a lump cash sum. It was getting dark so Legolas cracked open one of his glo-sticks, illuminating the group in a soft neon light. Instantly, a Dwarvish message sprang out upon the wall, startlingly bright in the pale moonlight.  
  
'SPEAK, STUPID, AND ENTER' read Frodo slowly as the rest of the Fellowship crowded round.  
  
'Its obviously some kind of riddle,' announced Sam, big headedly. 'What's the elvish word for 'stupid'?'  
  
Gandalf rounded on him angrily,  
  
'Don't be such a FUCKWIT!!!' he roared. Behind him, the door rolled open with a low rumble.  
  
'Jackpot!' yelled Gimli, as Gandalf gave Sam the finger, a dark look upon his face.  
  
Several things happened very quickly. Firstly, a dead Dwarf rolled out of the darkness in front of them.  
  
'Looks like the parties just getting started,' said Gimli excitedly, and started forward. Frodo, who was at the back of the group, suddenly felt a voice in his mind, a voice filled with cruelty that muttered 'SMOKE THE WEED…SMOKE THE WEED'. Dimwittedly he drew out a pre-rolled joint and sparked it. The thick clouds of methane, which hung over the foul lake behind him, ignited with a mighty blast, throwing the Fellowship forward and into the darkness of Moria. Rocks tumbled from the roof, blocking their exit and then all was silent, except for the sound of Merry wailing shrilly, then being gagged by Aragorn.  
  
A light swelled in the gloom and they looked round to see Gandalf, a smug grin on his face, holding a Maglite in his hands.  
  
'Well some of us came prepared,' he gloated, pointing at his torch. 'Now we must endure the long dark of Moria.'  
  
He cast the light around. The bodies of Dwarves lay strewn around the floor, their eyes bloodshot, and their hair long and greasy. There was a distinct smell of marijuana, and signs that there had recently been a great pall of smoke in the room.  
  
'This was one hell of a party,' gasped Gimli in awe. Gandalf said nothing, but there was a deep, hooded fear in his eyes. The Dwarves had smoked too much and too soon in the 'Hood – he knew what they had awakened in the depths of Moria…  
  
For what seemed like days they followed Gandalf, in what seemed like circles. Frodo was convinced they had passed the dead dwarf clutching a can of Special Brew at least eight times now, but thought to himself 'after all, Gandalf is a powerful wizard – he must know what he's doing.' Gandalf was helplessly lost but still trying to maintain an air of relaxed confidence.  
  
'Just around the next corner, I think,' he called back cheerfully. When confronted with a set of three tunnels, he added 'to the next stage of our journey.'  
  
Gimli had resigned himself to the fact that things had indeed gone wrong in the 'Hood and Legolas was teasing him about it unmercifully.  
  
'Incest – always gets you in the end,' he chuckled. 'Us elves used to go in for that in the old days but as you can see,' he pointed to some Dwarf skeletons, which Orcs had placed in a complicated sexual position, 'things like this happen!'  
  
'What's Gandalf up to,' whispered Pippin in the dark. Up ahead, Gandalf was wandering around the end of a dead-end corridor, hunched over a variety of small objects on the ground. Suddenly he came running back, screaming 'FIRE IN THE HOLE'. The whole 'Hood of Moria seemed to shake with the blast which blew the end out of the tunnel, to reveal another choice of three. The sound of the explosion echoed into the depths. None of the Fellowship gave it another thought.  
  
'Bugger,' said Gandalf. 'Another three tunnels. Let us rest while I try and remember the way.'  
  
Aragorn snapped. 'You don't know where the fuck we're going, do you, you old bastard.' He lunged at the wizard's throat, only to be restrained by Boromir, who seized him around the waist, accidentally fumbling the Rangers 'package'.  
  
'What the…?' said Aragorn, turning round with fear in his eyes. 'Did you just do what I think you did?'  
  
'It was an accident,' protested Boromir. The pair both pulled out their blades. Gandalf placed restraining hands on their shoulders and suggested that it might be better if they used swords in front of the Hobbits…  
  
As the two warriors slugged it out, Gandalf sat down and tried to remember which way to go. The Hobbits clustered together and polished off the remaining mushrooms from Merry and Pippin's stash. Upon finishing, Pippin held up the cool-box they'd carried all the way to keep them fresh.  
  
'We won't be needing this any more,' he cheered, and tossed it down a nearby well. The sound it made was almost imperceptible but Gandalf leapt to his feet.  
  
'Fool of a Took,' he bellowed. 'You'll bring the forces of the Drug Lord down upon us!'  
  
'But you just set of all those mines….' began the quaking Hobbit.  
  
'Silence!' roared Gandalf. 'No one likes a smartarse.'  
  
Frodo fingered the Weed in his pocket. It seemed to be growing colder as if some inconceivably evil force was closing in, and he shuddered. Suddenly Gimli spoke up.  
  
'We take the middle tunnel by the way. I was just delaying to teach Gandalf a lesson, the old codger. We've been going in circles for ages.'  
  
Legolas groaned.  
  
'Cheers mate,' added Aragorn sarcastically to the wizard, who shuffled his feet uncomfortably and looked at the floor.  
  
The Fellowship plunged on through the dark. Gradually they all started to become aware of a sound on the air; empty beer cans were being crushed by grimy fists and loud belches echoed down the passage behind them.  
  
'It appears we are being followed,' said Boromir obviously.  
  
'Sounds like it could be Balin after all,' whispered Gimli hopefully, but it wasn't encouraging.  
  
The tunnel began to open out and a weak light filtered down from the ceiling, as the foul noise of pursuit grew by the minute. Spotting a door to their left, Legolas dived through it and considered locking the door before the others had a chance to get inside, before his guilt got the better of him. They all crowded in, barring the vast wooden door behind them; and raising the torch above his head, Gandalf surveyed their hiding place. The entire Fellowship had crammed themselves into a Dwarvish toilet cubicle, its walls adorned with graffiti. Sam quickly read the twisted scrawl as the flashlight passed over the runes; 'IS THAT THE BRIDGE OF KAZAD-DUM IN YOUR POCKET OR ARE YOU JUST PLEASED TO SEE ME' and 'FOR KINKY SEX, PHONE THORIN ON 0800-696969' he quoted aloud.  
  
As the light panned round, a sight leapt out of the darkness that caused all but the most dim-witted of Hobbits to scream like a girl. Sat upon the actual toilet itself was the dried out corpse of a dead Dwarf, an expression of pain on its face and a large, leather bound book balanced across its knees.  
  
'Balin!' wept Gimli, falling to his knees.  
  
'What a way to go,' gasped Legolas, bowing his head as a mark of respect. Gandalf tiptoed forward and drew the book from under the Dwarfs clenched fists, and gingerly turned the stained pages. He began to read aloud, his voice echoing through the enclosed space.  
  
THERE HAS BEEN MUCH DOPE SMOKING AT THE EAST WALL…ORI…SO DRUNK…FELL DOWN MINE SHAFT…someone's spilt beer over the next bit…BONGS, BONGS IN THE DEEP…there's a hole burnt here…WE CANNOT GET DRUNK…STOLEN ALE…I think this is vomit…WEED SMOKING COMPETITION…FIRE AND SMOKE – WE LOVE IT…more vomit…ITS STARTED…THEY ARE SMOKING…  
  
Coming Soon – 'The Bong of Hazard-Doom' 


	7. The Bong of Hazard-Doom

Disclaimer: I pinched all the characters and places from Tolkien.  
  
Lord of the Sleaze 7  
  
Note to Everyone: Just like to say thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and enjoys this. Comforting (or disturbing) to know that other people find my insane world at least mildly amusing…  
  
The Bong of Hazard-Doom   
  
With a drunken shrieking, a band of Orcs stumbled through the door behind them, armed to the teeth with scimitars and axes. Behind them lumbered a gigantic Cave Troll, clutching an evil looking club and wearing a tattered t-shirt bearing the legend 'Masturbation is not a Crime'. They stared in surprise at the Fellowship who had all tried to cram themselves behind the toilet bowl with limited success.  
'This cubicle's taken,' called Aragorn hopefully as the war band moved in on them menacingly. It didn't slow them down. Gandalf decided to try and salvage the situation, and arose from his undignified position of lying on top of Gimli.   
'Go on Gandalf,' cheered the Hobbits as the wizard advanced upon the snarling servants of Sauron, and held their breath as he stood before them. To their collective surprise, he suddenly prostrated himself before their enemies, and grovelled pathetically before them.  
'Please don't kill me, I'll do anything you want, I've got nothing to do with these others, they forced me to come with them. I love Sauron and all his friends. Please spare my humble life…'  
He began whimpering and kissing the boots of the lead Orc, who laughed and trod on his head.  
'You traitorous bastard,' screamed Boromir and threw himself at the Orcs with a Gondorian battle cry. 'I SURRENDER!'  
That was all the others needed and they drew their swords, and waded into the fray, laying out Orcs left, right and centre. Seeing the untimely demise of his comrades, the Cave Troll turned and fled with a squeal of fear. The Fellowship admired their handy-work, as Gandalf stepped out from behind a pillar.  
'Well done,' he smiled. 'It seems my diversion worked!'  
The rest of them looked at him doubtfully, respect for their valiant leader reaching an all time low.   
  
They ran on into the depths of Moria, with Gandalf notably bringing up the rear. As they charged headlong down the tunnels, they became aware of a reverberating beat upon the air that appeared to grow louder and louder until the Hobbits clasped their ears in pain. A turn in the passage lay ahead from which there emanated a dull red glow and tendrils of smoke wafted from out of sight. Gandalf strode forward in an attempt to recover lost face, and peered around the corner. He quickly returned grinning wildly.  
'I can see the door,' he whispered excitedly, sliding a new clip into his AK-47. 'We've got to make a dash for it – if anyone gets left behind, then they're er…on their own.'   
He turned his back on them and ran like a thing possessed.  
Frodo clasped the weed in his pocket and turned the corner. The sight that met his eyes filled him with dread, and almost stopped him in his tracks. A huge ghetto blaster occupied the entire end of the room, pumping out the hardest in underground hip-hop. The packed host of Orcs, bedecked in bandannas and gold chains were bouncing around the mighty cavern, while a giant Cave Troll break-danced in the centre. Marijuana smoke filled the lair, and a vast rotating disco ball reflected the glowing red of a thousand lighted joints. Gandalf was already halfway to the exit, darting from pillar to pillar, the light from his staff lost in the melee. But it was not all this that filled the Hobbit with deep terror. Lording over the volume knob of the stereo was a giant figure, black as the coldest night, seemingly wreathed in smoke and flame, eyes smouldering red and bloodshot. In one hand, it held a cocktail of many spirits and the other held the largest and most evil looking bong Frodo had ever seen. As he stared, the creature lifted it to its lips and took a large hit, a blaze of fire illuminating everything with a bright crimson.  
'Aiiyeee!!!' screamed Legolas, his elvish cool miraculously evaporating. 'A Balrog!!!'  
'Durin's bollocks!!' roared Gimli, doubling his running speed to about that of a lame tortoise.   
The entire room turned and caught the Fellowship in the act of hightailing it to the bridge leading to their freedom. They were well out of range and escape should have been easy, were it not for a sudden booming voice, which echoed mockingly behind them.  
'Why, if it isn't Gandalf the Grey – the wizard who cannot take his chronic. Better not stay in here too long, we might have to get the ambulance like last time.'   
The Orcs howled with laughter. Gandalf froze in his tracks, his face contorted with rage, while the rest of the Fellowship fled across the bridge and turned to watch him from the other side. Gandalf remained standing halfway across the bridge, but now he had turned to face his foe, who strode forward, still brandishing the enormous bong, and seemed to grow to fill the cavern with darkness and malice.  
'Saruman was here the other day, and he smoked TWICE as much as you managed,' the creature continued to gloat. The Orcs rolled on the ground with helpless laughter. 'Radagast came here last week and smoked our ENTIRE SUPPLY! Its time to prove you're a man…'  
Once again, the Balrog held out the smoking bong towards the quaking wizard.   
'Mother of Morgoth!!' exclaimed Aragorn loudly. 'Its 'ffukyo-up!!''  
'What?' exclaimed Sam, awestruck.   
'Every bong that was made by the elves was given an elvish name. Look,' he said, drawing his own grubby bong from his trousers - and then taking out his his dope smoking device, 'mine is called 'smokintooa koma'. It was thought that 'ffukyo-up' was lost many years ago by Celeborn after a particularly heavy drinking session.'  
On the bridge, Gandalf was now holding the bong in a shaky grip as the Balrog leant down and sparked it. He took a huge hit, smoke gushing from his nose which he managed to magically sculpt into a likeness of Bilbo Baggins getting bitch-slapped by Elrond. It was the most impressive work of sorcery that the Fellowship had ever seen him do.  
'He cannot smoke alone,' yelled Boromir valiantly and waited for someone else to make a move. Gandalf stumbled to his knees but did not fall, instead holding out the blackened rod to the Balrog looming above him.  
'Your turn,' he choked, turning to give the thumbs up to the waiting band. The Balrog looked confused at the wizard's failure to collapse at his feet and loaded the bong afresh, handing Gandalf the lighter to spark it. Suddenly, things happened very quickly. From his pocket, Gandalf whipped out a quarter he'd 'borrowed' from Frodo's One Weed, and stuffed it into the bowl. Then as the unsuspecting Balrog readied himself, he raised his staff above his head and screamed in elvish.  
'YO…KANOT…PAASS-IT!!' and with that he ignited the bowl in a blaze of red fire. The mighty figure shuddered; smoke pouring over and around its horned head. Its eyes bulged wildly and in trying to take a step back, tripped on one of its gold chains and flailed madly on the brink of the precipice. Then, with a final panicked scream, it toppled forwards into the depths of Moria. The Fellowship cheered its approval as Gandalf rose to his feet and attempted a bow on the narrow bridge. Unfortunately, he had miscalculated just how high he was. Still wearing the smile of someone who doesn't really know what's happening, his bow turned into the glorious forward-roll off the edge where he disappeared into the darkness.  
'NOOO!!' screamed Frodo, realising the company had lost its leader and spiritual guidance.  
'NOOO!!' hollered Aragorn, remembering he had leant Gandalf his complete Burt Bacherach collection.  
'NOOO!!' bellowed Gimli, remembering the wizard had still owed him 25 pence.  
'NOOO!!' minced Legolas, recalling that Gandalf had borrowed his only comb to get chewing gum out of his beard.  
'NOOO!!' squealed Merry and Pippin, remembering he had promised to buy them both a night of unadulterated pleasure with Galadriel when they reached Lothlorien.  
'NOOO!!' moaned Sam, realising that Gandalf had been 'looking after' all of his remaining jazz mags.  
'NOOO!!' roared Boromir, partly because everyone else was yelling and he felt left out, and partly because as the Balrog had fallen, it had spilt its drink, which was now pouring from the bridge in a torrent.  
  
Then, as a whole, they turned and ran for the door, the cleansing wash of sunlight pretty soon alleviating their woes. They stood at the top of an oddly familiar dale, and turning to their left they saw a road leading directly to the House of Elrond, about a quarter of a mile away. They could even see Elrond himself, frolicking with a couple of playgirls in an outdoor Jacuzzi.   
'You know…Gandalf was a bit of loser, wasn't he,' announced Sam.  
The rest shrugged, shouldered their packs and marched on towards the east. The air was warm, the sky clear and a large sign ahead read 'Lothlorien – The Birthplace of Vice – 10 miles.' They all broke into a jog.  
  
Coming Soon – Lothlorien or 'Bust'. 


	8. Lothlorien or 'Bust'

Disclaimer: All the characters and places herein are pinched from Tolkien.  
  
Lord of the Sleaze 8  
  
Lothlorien or 'Bust'.  
  
'So why are we going to Lothlorien?' inquired Frodo as the sight of the distant forest gradually grew larger in front of them.  
'Er…important business,' said Aragorn vaguely. Gimli and Legolas exchanged a grin.  
'And who is this Lady Galadriel?' Sam asked, jogging to catch up with Aragorn's hurried steps.  
'A well respected, and beautiful woman, my young Hobbit,' the Ranger replied cheerfully. 'I trust you will show due reverence.' Boromir laughed loudly behind them.  
'Is Gollum still following us?' asked Merry, and the whole Fellowship turned round to find the wizened creature standing directly behind them, who muttered 'oh crap' and dived behind some rocks.  
  
They stopped at a roadside bar for a quick drink before entering the kingdom of Lothlorien, primarily to shut up Boromir who had been moaning ever since finishing his last reserve alcohol supplies during the Balrog fight. The sign above the door read 'The Randy Orc' and despite this rather ominous declaration, the Fellowship slouched in.  
'Christ, this was a mistake,' muttered Sam as the Hobbits sat around a table in the corner. Aragorn had gone to buy the drinks with Boromir, who was trying to negotiate the price of a barrel of Mild Entwash, 90% proof, strong enough to stop even Tom Bombadiel in his tracks. The bar was full of unsavoury looking minions of the Drug Lord, underscored with an unnerving air of campness. Frodo had the distinct impression that the Orc sat fingering his weapon (and his scimitar) at the bar, was wearing green lipstick. He felt a shudder of fear. Even Legolas, no stranger to the world of cross-dressing, was looking uneasy. The two warriors returned with the drinks, and they formed a tight circle and exchanged worried glances.   
'Drink up, drink up drink up,' whispered Gimli in a panicked chant.  
Aragorn suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned round. Standing behind him was a gigantic Orc chieftain, eyes red from excessive use of mascara.   
'Any you guys looking for a good time?' he grunted.  
'Hell yeah,' said Aragorn enthusiastically. 'Where can I get some female action?'  
'If you want,' said the Orc, with a smile, 'I can wear…'  
Aragorn turned to the rest of them with a grin…and found himself staring at an empty table. The door banged shut as Boromir, barrel on his shoulders, disappeared into the light.  
'Guys?' called Aragorn, running after them. 'Guys?'  
  
At the edge of the wood the infamous 'Pimp-Daddy' Haldir, adorned in sunglasses and a large white Panama hat, greeted them with a bored sneer.  
'The elf breathed so loud we could have shot him in the dark,' he hissed, loosing a few arrows in Legolas's direction. Legolas stormed off in a huff. 'Who dares approach the lady of the 'wood'.  
Aragorn, who was hiding behind them all, gave Boromir a shove forward. The drunken warrior fell flat on his face, his wallet rolling from his pocket and into the mud. Haldir scooped it up with a grin.  
'That will do nicely gentlemen. In you go!'  
The Fellowship entered Lothlorien in typical style – dragging Boromir behind them.  
  
As they walked deeper into the wood they became aware of many signs lining the path, enticing weary travellers with mysterious messages such as 'For A Bag Of Mithril, I'll Do Anything'. Scantily clad elves, both male and female, gyrated alluringly between the boughs. Aragorn was basically dragging his tongue along the ground, Legolas was looking bored and Gimli was loudly proclaiming that nothing beat a good orgy with the Riders of Rohan, with or without horses. The Hobbits gaped unnecessarily at the wide range of sexual perversions they witnessed every step of the way. Eventually, they became aware of an elvish song being broadcast on a bad public announcement system.  
'What are they singing?' slurred Boromir, lifting his head from the ground in an alcoholic daze.   
'It's a lament for Gandalf. The words I cannot say, for I fear I might laugh,' admitted Legolas, who indeed seemed to be having trouble keeping a straight face.  
'Go on Mr. Legolas,' implored Sam.  
'Oh, all right then,' said Legolas resignedly, and in a clear voice he recited;  
  
"Gandalf the Grey was a powerful wizard,  
Who was once caught in Bree having sex with a lizard.  
He tried to pull out, but his staff had got stuck,  
The Orcs got their cameras, Gandalf cursed his luck.  
When finally freed by the magic of Elrond,  
Who asked 'why attempt such an unholy bond?'  
The wizard replied as he straightened his hat,  
'I'll shag what I like, you pointy-eared twat!'"  
  
The whole Fellowship burst into laughter, and still convulsed with mirth they arrived at their destination – the bower of the Lady Galadriel, Queen among elves.   
  
The first thing that struck them when faced by the radiant appearance of Galadriel was the shear size of her breasts. It was rumoured that Sauron himself had paid for the op just so she'd turn a blind eye to the blatant gun-running that went through Lothlorien, cunningly avoiding Gondor, Rohan and any number of other corruptible regions.  
'Looks like she's smuggling palantirs,' giggled Boromir, gently lifting the Hobbit's jaws back together. Aragorn was currently on his knees, holding out ever penny he owned and begging for one night of pleasure.  
'Not on your life, deadbeat!' she snapped, taking his money anyway. Aragorn crawled away as the elf queen turned to Gimli.  
'And what can I do for you Master Dwarf,' she whispered softly. 'Maybe you and your elf friend would like to spend some time with me…'  
Gimli and Legolas stared at eachother for a second, weighing the odds, before slapping hands.  
'ALRIGHT!!!' they cheered, any bad blood between them suddenly forgotten. As she led them off, she caught Boromir's arm and whispered, 'come and see me later Bory – with a bottle.'   
'No problem there,' said Boromir, holding up a dusty champagne bottle he'd surreptitiously pinched form 'The Randy Orc'.   
As Galadriel passed the awestruck Hobbits, she cast them a distasteful glance before slipping a note to Frodo. The other Hobbits crowded around as he read aloud. 'COME AND SEE ME AT MIDNIGHT – BY THE FOUNTAIN.'   
'Respect,' gasped Sam.  
  
Much later that night, after Aragorn had sat up moaning about not getting the respect worthy of the heir to the Gondor cartel, Boromir returned, swinging an empty bottle with a large grin on his face. He sat down with Legolas and Gimli, and the three of them began to loudly discuss the previous four hours.   
'When she brought out all those whips…' said Gimli, in an awed tone. Even Legolas was duly impressed, despite the soreness of his wrists from the handcuffs. Aragorn glowered at them from across the campfire, muttering words of malice and revenge. It was then that Frodo's digital watch alarm went off and he stood up.  
'I'm just going away for a minute. For a walk.' No one even looked up, apart from the rest of the Hobbits, who all said 'NICE ONE' before turning back to their newly purchased game of erotic Cluedo.  
'So, it was King Theoden, in the Tower of Orthanc, with Treebeard the Ent,' mused Pippin, idly 'tossing his dice'. Sam spun the number generator. Frodo scampered away, into the darkness.  
  
As he neared the fountain, he could see the figure of Galadriel, impatiently drumming her fingers against a tree. As Frodo stepped from the shadows, she greeted him with a wry smile.  
'I know what it is you carry, for it is also in my mind,' she purred, placing a heavily nail-varnished hand upon his shoulder.  
'The Weed!' said Frodo breathlessly. 'Do you want some?'  
'You offer it to me freely,' Galadriel gasped. 'I would be lying if I said that in my heart I have not desired a large joint.'  
'Well I've sold it to just about everyone else, except Gandalf who used to pinch it,' said Frodo, starting to see that a night of rampant sex was not on the cards. The elf queen pointed suddenly to the fountain, a gaudy affair, covered in tinsel and coloured lights.  
'Stare into the water and tell me what you see,' she said imperiously, lighting a cigarette and yawning. Frodo approached cautiously and peered over the rim. He took a drink from the water, and it became immediately apparent that someone had laced the fountain with LSD, a traditional elf trick. Pretty soon he was seeing all sorts of shit. After half an hour or so of watching elves, dwarves and Shelob the Great engaging in kinky bondage sessions, and Sauron the Drug Lord building hospitals and orphanages, he came upon a sight that caused him to cry aloud in terror. A laughing crowd of Nazgul was shutting down the Hobbiton brothel, 'The Little Goer', and a kindergarten was being built in its place. A rush of happy memories of that beloved building flooded his mind and with a mighty effort he wrenched away from the fountain and fell onto the ground.  
'I know what it was you saw,' said Galadriel mysteriously, 'for it is also in my mind. Its what will come to pass should you FAIL. Not that there is any stress or anything.' Frodo had never felt so depressed.  
  
Coming Soon: 'Fellowship Now – Redux' 


	9. The Departure of Boromir's Liver

Disclaimer: All the characters are pinched from Tolkien except my storyline is more epic.  
  
The Lord of the Sleaze 9  
  
Fellowship Now - Redux and The Departure of Boromir's Liver.  
  
Right from the start they knew they weren't going to get one of the flashy pleasure yachts moored along the posh riverfront. When informed that the Fellowship needed a boat to journey down the river Anduin on a mission to save all of Middle-Earth, the boat master had gained a cunning look in his eye, and informed them he would be back soon. They passed the time by lobbing rocks at passing elves and passing round a bottle of something dubious that Boromir had got his hands on. Eventually, the boat master returned in the most dilapidated barge imaginable. At one time it had obviously been used to ferry dead Orcs to the sausage factory, as several limbs still hung limply over the side. Sam gaped in horror as he saw three elves bailing out water at top speed just to keep it afloat. 'This should suit you my young masters,' said the boat master, trying to avoid catching their eyes. 'Whatever,' groaned Boromir and passed out head first into the slimy water that filled the boat's deck. Aragorn was just preparing to castrate the boat master with the aid of Gimli's beard, when they heard a wonderful singing. Then the effect was ruined when someone tried to sing along to the CD in a cracked, warbling voice, and around a bend in the river came Galadriel, borne in a boat shaped in the likeness of a beheaded dwarf. It was powered by eight strapping young elves, handcuffed to their oars and leashed to the elf queen's own hand. Aragorn dropped to his knees. 'Brave travellers,' she recited in monotone. 'I come bearing you gifts that will make your journey seem light and carefree.' She began to rummage around in a cardboard box. There was the sound of something breaking. 'Oh,' she muttered. 'I don't seem to have a gift for Aragorn any more.' The Ranger cursed and went and sat in the water beside the fallen Boromir. 'For Gimli,' she said, 'I give a beard care set, complete with comb and three different kinds of conditioner!' The dwarf accepted his gift graciously. 'For Legolas, a book of '101 Postures of Elf Superiority.' 'For Boromir, a book of '100001 Drinking Games - Take It To The Next Level.' She tossed it upon his recumbent form. 'And to the Hobbits, I'm giving bugger all. It patently obvious they've just been getting stoned on the One Weed so that's all the fun their getting.' She cracked a leather bullwhip, and the boat began to move away. The Fellowship breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
After thoroughly roughing up the boat master, they ended up pinching one of the sparkling pleasure yachts anyway and set off down the river, letting themselves drift with the current as no one could be bothered to work out how to start it. They began to suspect that they might have tested the kindness of the elves when they examined the items in the boat such as a box of cigars emblazoned with the word 'Haldir's', a case of brandy labelled 'Haldir's' and finally the discovery by Pippin that the actual name of the boat was 'Haldir's Morning Glory'. A great feeling of doom fell over them, as if a shadow had passed before the sun. 'We will never leave this land alive,' announced Aragorn wearily. Boromir nodded silently before adding, 'Haldir once used to work in the dungeons of the Drug Lord - that elf sure does know his torture techniques.' Despite these bleak prophecies, the afternoon passed uneventfully apart from a few run-ins with the feisty Orc fishermen who objected to them ploughing into their tackle at full whack. In fact the atmosphere became quite merry, culminating in tossing Gimli over the side and then throwing him in the river. Legolas was just making a pair of water skis from Haldir's drinks cabinet, when Aragorn suddenly cut the engine and whispered 'Listen'. Gradually they began to discern that upon the air was the noise of rushing water and the boat was swept between rocky cliffs, which suddenly rose on either side. It suddenly dawned on the dim-witted bunch that there was a distinct possibility that they were just about to get washed over a waterfall or something, but by that time it was far too late. The canyon began to open up, revealing a sight that caused the Hobbits to gasp involuntarily. They turned around and saw Aragorn, who suddenly did not seem like the scruffy Ranger they loved to hate, but now looked like some kind of ridiculous orang-utan with his arms draped over the side and his lower jaw distended in awe. 'Long have I desired to gaze upon the 'pillars' of the Kings,' he gasped. The Hobbits returned their eyes to the gigantic erections that reared skywards on either side of the river. Even Legolas was duly impressed. 'That Isildur was certainly a big fella,' he gasped, staring at the carven works of art as they passed beneath them.  
  
They were washed into a gigantic lake, and Legolas used his elvish eyesight to peer into the distance. 'All I can see is a cloud of spray, and hear a distant rumbling sound, so we could just all have a sleep and drift for a bit,' he suggested. The Fellowship awoke some four hours later to find themselves snagged on a rock at the very brim of a gigantic waterfall, quickly identified by Boromir who exclaimed, 'Fuck me, it's the Falls of Rauros!' Disembarking from their craft and pushing it over the waterfall to hide their tracks, the Fellowship stared dejectedly into the woods before them. 'If only Gandalf were here,' murmured Frodo. 'Thank God he isn't,' said Aragorn sharply. 'I can't stand being bossed around by an old man.' With more than a little persuasion, they built up a camp on the shores of the lake. Legolas built himself a small hut, further up the hill. 'I hope it doesn't rain tonight, for your sake,' he called mockingly. Aragorn saw that when he was in his tent, his head was merely inches from the water, and silently cursed the cocky elves. He felt like kicking something and looked around for Frodo, but the young Hobbit was nowhere in sight. 'Where's Frodo?' he enquired, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. 'He went to get firewood,' answered Pippin, taking an experimental bite from a mushroom he'd just found in the forest. 'But I suspect,' added Merry bitterly, 'that he's gone to get mashed on the One Weed.' Aragorn scanned the rest of the Fellowship. Sam was hunched over 'Celeborn's Sexy Stories' in the latest issue of 'Elf Erotica'. Gimli was demolishing Legolas's hut with his axe in a fit of jealous rage, with the elf in question lying unconscious beside his collapsing creation. Boromir was nowhere to be seen.  
  
Frodo crept through the woods, trying to find a secluded spot for a quick joint. The area had obviously been one of major importance and broken statues lay scattered around. Atop a fallen king, Frodo carefully rolled his joint and took a large blast. Instantaneously, he was transported to the strange, bleached world of the One Weed, his eyes and ears became sharper, and he leaned back. It was then that he perceived the shadow of an approaching figure and he looked up. Above him towered Boromir of Gondor, a glimmer of danger in his eyes, and an empty whiskey bottle held loosely in his shaky grasp. 'Give me the Weed, Frodo!' he thundered, stepping forward menacingly. Frodo was taken aback, and scrambled to his feet. 'Fuck that,' he mumbled, slurring. 'I see your mind you short-arse. You mean to keep the Weed for yourself!! Give it to me for with it I can unite the free-drinkers of Middle-Earth into a pub-crawl of unimaginable proportions. Sauron cannot trouble us if we just all get stoned!' With a final roar he flung himself at the gob-smacked Hobbit and wrestled him to the ground. 'GIVE IT TO ME!! GIVE IT TO ME!!' he hollered, trying to hold down the struggling Frodo. 'Am I interrupting something?' came Aragorn's voice, and the bushes parted to reveal the Ranger with an excited grin on his face. It was all the diversion that Frodo needed and turning, fled away uphill. 'Were you trying to molest a Hobbit?' gasped Aragorn incredulously. 'Er.no,' ventured Boromir unconvincingly, shuffling off back to camp.  
  
Frodo continued to run, still cloaked in the hazy reality of the Weed's influence. Before long he found himself atop a wooded hill, where the shattered ruins of a watchtower poked forcibly through the canopy. Standing upon these foundations he perceived through the mists of his high, many far off and strange lands. To the north, a great many dwarves were building a vast tower on which there was a sign saying 'Club Dwarf - go away Sauron (and elves)'. To the west, the dark border of the Misty Mountains rose threateningly, and the Hobbit watched in horror as he witnessed Galadriel ordering Orc assassins to hunt them down to retrieve Haldir's boat. Looking quickly down the hill, he saw the boat in question splintered into a million pieces and still receiving a trashing at the bottom of the falls. Shaking, he turned instead to the south, where the white city of Minas Tirith stood upon its mountain throne. There, he could discern the figure of Denathor sparking up a huge joint, and saying to his son Faramir that he had always thought of Boromir as a drunken pillock and hoped he would not return. It was with great reluctance that he turned his gaze to the east. There, dark beyond the blackest of night, taller than the hulking grey mountains that enclosed it, immeasurably vile and blazing with crude neon effigies, he saw it. Club Barad-dur, the foul establishment of the Drug Lord himself. Hoards of drunken Orcs reeled around its base, drinking cheap liquor concoctions and taking unreasonably expensive designer drugs. All hope left him. Suddenly he became aware that there was an eye in the tower, a bloodshot red eye, that fixed upon him from afar before sliding drunkenly away, and then closing shut in an alcoholic stupor. The sudden rattling of pint glasses drew his attention back to his surroundings and he peered down the hill.  
  
The captain of the Uruk-Hai stood before the Fellowship, holding a frothy pint in each hand. 'Challenge me you cowards,' he hissed, 'or prepare to meet thy doom.' The appearance of the Uruk-Hai, trained heavy drinkers from Club Orthanc, had caught everyone by surprise during their pre-fortification building sleep. The Hobbits were tiredly blinking their eyes, and Aragorn was wearing a floral nightdress. Legolas and Gimli both wore his and hers matching nightcaps. When the Fellowship didn't move, the whole band of Uruks began to laugh and jeer. 'LIGHTWEIGHTS!!!' bellowed their captain, downing both his pints in a quick gulp. 'I will challenge you!' came a sudden voice, and turning they saw Boromir, a harsh light of determination glowing in his eyes. The Uruk captain sized him up slowly. 'I can drink twice as much as all of you,' added Boromir. The rest of the Fellowship had begun to edge further away until they could crouch behind a fallen tree to watch. A couple of mangy goblins began lining up the pints as the band of Uruks took their positions and got ready to drink. Boromir turned and gave the thumbs up to the rest of them and reached for his first pint.  
  
What followed was beyond any horror the Fellowship had yet encountered. Boromir received challenges from every member of the Uruk-Hai, and yet he remained standing. Some started to pass out and lay in a heap before the drink-slamming warrior, while others stumbled away into the bushes never to be seen again. Eventually, there were only a few left and in that moment it seemed although he would make it. 'Another triple vodka for both of us,' gasped the Uruk captain, barely managing to finish his last. Then disaster struck. Boromir's knees suddenly buckled and he slumped forward, spilling his last drink upon the forest floor. Gloating smiles of triumph curled around the lips of the Uruks as they gathered round to watch him slide finally onto his face. 'NOOO!!!!' screamed Merry and Pippin and rushed forward to drink in his place. As Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli hid under a log, the Uruk-Hai scooped up the struggling Hobbits and stumbled drunkenly away into the forest. Aragorn opened an eye and saw there was no one in sight, after which he got up and ran to the fallen Boromir. The warrior was deathly cold to the touch and his face was pale and splattered with whiskey. 'They took the little ones,' he managed to gasp. 'I know,' wept Aragorn, 'but fear not my brave friend, we will rescue Merry and Pippin from evil.' 'The Hobbits?' said Boromir. 'Who gives a toss about them. They vile Orcs pinched all my brandy miniatures!!' Indeed, the Uruk captain had run off with Boromir's emergency drink sack. 'Also,' he muttered, his voice now no more than a whisper, 'I tried to take the Weed from Frodo.I'm sorry, I wasn't strong enough..' And with that, Boromir drew his last breath and sank back to the ground. 'The bastard,' said Aragorn incredulously. 'He tried to pinch the Weed and didn't let us in on the plan!'.  
  
Meanwhile, Sam was running back towards camp in a desperate bid to save his porn collection from the teaming hoards of Orcs. As he barrelled through the bushes, his feet suddenly made contact with something solid and he tumbled upon his face. Looking back to see what had sent him sprawling he saw the One Weed, carefully wrapped in a Playboy centrefold, lying unguarded on the forest floor. Eagerly, he scooped it up and was just about to roll a large joint when the memory of his beloved porn came to mind, and he continued to run back to the lake. When he reached the shore, he saw Frodo sitting astride Aragorn's inflatable Arwen doll, paddling across the lake with his hands. 'FRODO,' called Sam desperately, seeing that his master had taken off with his rucksack of porn. 'Stay there, Sam,' warned Frodo. 'I'm going to Mount Doom by myself to rid Middle-Earth of this evil Weed. I cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.' He tapped his pocket and then took on a panicked look. 'Bugger!' he swore, peering into the lake. Sam held the Weed aloft and Frodo swore even more. 'I'm coming with you,' shouted Sam, 'because I don't trust you not to smoke it all before you get there!' 'Foiled again,' muttered Frodo under his breath. Paddling back to the shore, he tied a rope round his trusty sidekick and dragged him across the lake, towards Mordor and the might of the Drug Lord.  
  
'Make sure you've emptied out his wallet,' said Gimli helpfully as Aragorn and Legolas prepared to sling Boromir over the waterfall. 'First thing I did when his eyes closed,' muttered Aragorn, seizing the dead Gondorian by the arms while the elf grasped his legs. 'One.Two.Three!!!' shouted the Ranger and they tossed him as far as they could into the foaming torrent, and they all ran to see him get washed into the rocks far below. 'That should stop any blame falling on us,' said Legolas hopefully as he dubiously regarded Boromir's body and Haldir's prize boat churning around in the white water. The others looked doubtful. 'What are we going to do now? Rescue the Hobbits?' queried Gimli, sparking up a fat one. 'I don't see that there's much else we can do,' said Aragorn dejectedly. 'Either way, if the Forces of Sauron don't get us, then the Elves and Gondorians will. Plus, we need at least two puny weaklings to kick around.' They all grinned. Aragorn placed his hand on the shoulder of his two companions, and they locked arms, each secretly hoping that no one else was watching. 'But first, lets go hunt out a Burger King,' Gimli let out a roar of approval and turning, the remains of the Fellowship fled into the gathering dusk.  
  
Against the gathering night, two small figures scrambled over a rocky ridge. Climbing into the clear air they observed from afar a black land where lightning flickered and a rumbling voice laughed 'Mwahhahahaha'. 'I'm glad you're with me,' said Frodo softly. 'That's alright master Frodo,' said Sam, who then looked round to find his companion was actually talking to the One Weed in his pocket. For a moment he was sad but then he remembered the reams of porn stuffed in his sack and his outlook brightened. There were still plenty of Hobbit bondage photosets to keep him company, and who knew what sort of sordid mags he could pick up in Mordor. The two adventurers began their descent into the Dead Marshes.  
  
Coming After Christmas - 'Lord of the Sleaze - The Two Taverns'  
  
Exclusive Preview!!!  
  
'That bastard Boromir wasn't my brother,' cursed Faramir. 'Spent his life supping foul beverages and playing pool in the houses of ill repute in Minas Tirith.' 'But isn't Denathor your father?' questioned Sam innocently. Faramir fixed the Hobbit with an icy stare. 'Just because my father used to sleep about a bit, doesn't mean you can't show respect, short-shanks,' he sneered. 'In fact,' he added, a note of pride in his voice. 'My father fathered children from here to the Misty Mountains and beyond. They say I've got a half-brother and sister in Rohan somewhere, but I think that may be hearsay.' 'To be honest,' slurred Frodo, mashed again on the One Weed, 'I don't give a fuck!'  
  
Join the Fellowship again after Christmas for more drug taking, booze swilling, violence inducing, porn watching, and incestuous fun. Cheers for all the reviews by the way - hope you've enjoyed it!! 


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